Wednesday, December 7, 2016

A blue-grey haze covered Aizawl town
and the hills around. The morning sun
shone through dully, like an orange ball enfolded in gauzy cloth. The smell of smoke hung in the air.

Charred-black hillsides lay naked under
the April sun, waiting for rain. As was
the normal annual practice, the forests had been slashed and burned for
cultivation.

Sunday morning church-bells
pealed. In different tones and rhythms. Some chimed a musical ‘Tong-tee Tong-tee’,
some clanged a hurried call like school bells, while others boomed a dignified
bass. They rang out from all
directions.

People of all ages hurried towards
their churches, going up or down steps on the hillside, depending on the
location of their houses. Men in suits
and ties, women in tops and colourful puan. Older women with hair tied in a bun or cut
short and curled. Younger women in
high-heeled shoes, long hair let loose. Little girls in pretty dresses, little boys in
shirts and pants.

A few well-to-do were dropped at the
church gates by cars; most walked the distance from their homes. None had to walk very far as each locality
had its own church. “Chibai!” men and women greeted one another as they met. They walked along in twos and threes,
chatting.

“The rains are late this year.”

“Our reservoir is empty. With the
government supply not at all regular, water is a big worry.”

“Cultivation can’t be done without rain.”

“They’ve all finished lo hal. It’s high time for the spring showers. At this rate we could face another famine…”

Others discussed the political
situation.

“The peace process is not moving forward. After the new government came to power at the
Centre, it has slowed down and then stopped altogether.”

“True. We are all longing and
waiting for peace and yet…”

“If only the leaders would bring some solution! We are all tired of the unrest and the army
operations.”

A young couple was heading towards Mission Veng church among
the others. The man, in a medium-grey
suit and matching tie, walked a step or two ahead of his wife with long, easy
strides. He exchanged pleasantries with
some people in a cheerful voice. The
woman, moving along silently behind him, was struggling to keep step with her
husband. Her high-heeled shoes made the
walk down the slope rather difficult.
Her petite figure was clad in a brown puan with geometrical designs, and a lime-yellow top. She had straight, fine black hair, blunt-cut
at chin level and parted in the middle.

An elderly woman turned, offered a hand to the young wife
and said, “O, Sanga, here, let me shake hands with the new bride. How should we call you? ‘Zorami’, or ‘Pari’?”

“Most people call me Zorami,” the young
woman said, smiling, as they shook hands.

“So we’ll also
call you Zorami. We could not come to
the wedding because my husband was down with fever.”

“That’s too
bad. How is he now?” Sanga asked.

“His fever is
gone, but he’s at home. He doesn’t yet
feel well enough to come to church.”

“I hope he gets
well soon.”

“He should be
fine in another day or two. So, you’ve
got yourself a pretty wife after a long wait!”

“It takes
patience to get the best things in life!” he said with a smile.

“You’re right,”
the woman smiled back.

Inside the church, the singing started
with drumbeats. Those who were standing
outside, conversing, moved in. They
passed the open porch and entered through either of the two doors. Inside, the wooden pews were arranged in
three sections – two of them close to two walls, lined with windows, and one in
the middle, all facing away from the entrance.
Two aisles divided the sections.
At the far end, opposite to the entrance, was a raised platform, on
which the pulpit stood. On a chair right
in the middle of the raised platform, in front of the pulpit, sat the chairman,
facing the pews. There was a small
lectern to his left. On the right and
the left sides of the pulpit, on separate small tables, stood big brass bowls
of skilfully arranged Easter lilies.

The worshippers poured in, rapidly
filling the pews. The singing went on
until the wall-clock struck ten. At the
same moment, the second bell rang out.
The chairman stood up and announced, “We now call on our tantu Pi Rimawii to open the meeting
with Bible reading and prayer.”

A middle-aged woman came forward. She stood behind the lectern to the left of
the chairman, placed her Bible on it and began reading in a clear voice: “The
Gospel according to Luke, chapter thirteen, verses ten to thirteen.

“One Sabbath day as Jesus was teaching in a synagogue, he saw a woman
who had been crippled by an evil spirit.
She had been bent double for eighteen years and was unable to stand up
straight.”

Zorami kept very still as she
listened. She was sitting in a pew at
the back-most row. She and Sanga had
been married in this same church four days ago.
“I, Zorampari, take you, Lalliansanga…” she had vowed. They had both sworn to have and to hold each
other until death should part them.

This was the first Sunday they had come
to church together as a wedded couple.
They sat apart on different benches.
He went to sit with his friends some rows ahead, while she slipped into
one end of the last row. Next to her sat
a young couple with a baby. The woman
held the sleeping infant, wrapped in a floral blanket, on her lap. The fragrance of baby-oil and baby-powder
drifted towards Zorami. The father
seemed unable to keep his eyes off his sleeping child.

“When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, ‘Woman, you are healed
of your sickness.’“